


Dolce

by drfangirl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drfangirl/pseuds/drfangirl
Summary: "You may make a meal of me yet Hannibal..."





	Dolce

"You may make a meal of me yet Hannibal..." she murmurs, her skin almost silver in the fading Florence light. Her eyes bore into his soul, her head tilted up, not breaking eye contact. As if programmed, Hannibal stares into her icy eyes, then to her lips, which he so badly needs to taste. She closes her eyes and leans forward, and instinctively, Hannibal leans forward as well, tilting his head to fit the curvature of her face. They breathe each other in, lips painfully close to touching, savoring each others breath, inhaling each other's schemes, thoughts, and emotions. When they touch, he feels the electricity, lips barely grazing each other, as if deciding whether or not to continue their exploration. He feels her playing, breaking away, and he knows she has to leave, but he can't let her. This is his last chance. As she breaks away, he goes in deeper, pulling her into his arms, her small frame against his chest. He feels her heart speed up, and he opens her lips and inserts his tongue, deepening the kiss. He feels her knees shake and her small hands press into his chest.  
He moves the mahogany chair of the dining room set, laying her down on the polished table. She looks up at him, fear mingled with desire, as her chest rises up and down rapidly. His large hand strokes the side of her face and he brings his lips to hers once more, gently slipping his tongue into the soft mouth he's been scolded and taunted by over the past few years. He feels her pulse, a tiny flicker of life amongst her unresponsive body. His mouth continues to press down on hers, his teeth scraping hers, his tongue exploring. His hand wanders down to her dress, perfectly wrapped around her breasts, and he moves his mouth off hers to taste them, leaving a wet trail from her neck to the clevage baring fabric stretched across her chest. As he tastes her skin, she shifts under him, her hand placed firmly on his head. Her eyes bore into him as they have many times before, and her eyebrows narrow. Her body shifts from under him and she peels herself off the tabls and gathers her packed items.  
"You may make a meal of me yet Hannibal...but not today."  
Leaving a trail of expensive smelling perfume, Bedelia floats out of the apartment, leaving Hannibal to look at the fading sunlight over il Duomo.


End file.
